


Make a Left at ABQ

by calicomary



Series: Breaking Bad&MCU crossover? How does that even work? [1]
Category: Breaking Bad, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Crossover, Homophobic Language, Monologue, Multi, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, SPOILERS!!!!, let me know if I missed any tags in the comments section
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicomary/pseuds/calicomary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Clint Barton and Jesse Pinkman roadshow. This is post-Felina and concurrent/post Thor. Because who better to help Jesse escape the authorities than Hawkeye? If you have not watched Breaking Bad before reading this I suggest you do so before getting too far along. I'm going to be referencing a lot of material that is so much better as presented in its original form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyjupiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/gifts), [celeryy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeryy/gifts).



> Dedicated to The Penal Colony, a collection of stories and short stories which taught me the meaning of the word Kafkaesque.  
> This started brewing right after I saw Felina and I take the fact that heyjupiter here and maverikloki over on the BrBa kinkmeme also dig the ol' Marvel crossover as a sign that I should post this.  
> Also, thanks celeryy! You're feedback helped immensely.

Agent Coulson is about to call Clint when his phone beeps with a text message. I have a situation at the Holiday Inn. Could you bring some Funyuns and this drink called Neuro Sleep? I’ll explain when you get here. Coulson contemplates making the call anyway but decides to avoid the frustration and confront Clint when they can talk face to face.

Pausing in front of the door to room 118, Coulson can hear muffled voices inside. He knocks on the door and the voices go silent. Coulson makes a point of looking straight into the peephole with his third most inscrutable gaze. “Okay, it’s just my friend, Phil.” He hears. The door opens to reveal an unusually pensive Clint Barton, who gestures Coulson inside.

Coulson’s eyes narrow slightly when he catches sight of the room’s other occupant. A disheveled 20-30 year old who had clearly seen better days stood nervously by the bathroom door. Coulson matches the ragged clothes with the pungent odor and comes to a conclusion, “Picking up vagrants, are we?”

Before Clint can open his mouth to explain, the man runs into the bathroom and locks the door. Clint sighs, “I was afraid he might do that.” He walks over to the door, “Jesse it’s okay. I told you Phil is a good guy. He’s not gonna hurt you.”

“Make him promise,” Jesse’s voice is shaky.

Clint looks at Coulson who looks back at him. Clint makes a ‘go ahead’ gesture.

Coulson takes a step forward and speaks clearly, “I promise I won’t hurt you.” 

A pregnant pause is followed by, “He doesn’t sound like he means it.”

Coulson rolls his eyes and turns to Clint, “Agent Barton we don’t have time for this.”

At this, the bathroom door cracks open and an eye peeks through, “You’re an agent?” Jesse whispers.

“I’m more of a specialist, really,” Clint assures him

“You’re a lying son of a bitch!” and the door slams shut.

“Damn it,” Clint mutters softly, “He has trust issues.”

“Don’t we all,” Coulson says, “Speaking of trust, I trust that you’ll be available on site when we need you, which would be at all times.”

Clint rolls his eyes, “Come on Coulson. It’s a fucking hammer.”

“We don’t know what it is,” Coulson looks pointedly at the bathroom door, “But it takes precedence over…whatever this is. Is there a window in that bathroom?”

“No,” Clint answers.

“I’m sure he’s figured that out by now, so why don’t you come out and we’ll take you to a shelter,” Coulson says towards the door.

“I already knew there wasn’t a window, bitch! And I’m not going anywhere without my money!”

“He’s been in and out of there all day. He likes being able to lock people out,” Clint explains softly.

Agent Coulson gives Clint an ambiguous look and says, “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Clint steps away from the door, “I was on my way back from the local watering hole when I saw him going to town on a car with a crowbar. I asked if he needed help and he froze like a deer in the headlights. Then he looked like he was about to come at me with the crowbar. Then he said he’d give me four million dollars if I gave him a ride.”

“Four million dollars? And you believed him?” Coulson asks.

“Of course not. But he seemed really desperate and I just…I don’t know. I felt sorry for him I guess,” Clint shrugs his shoulders.

“Since when do you-“ Coulson breaks off when hears sobbing come from the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Clint sighs, “He’s been doing that off and on since I met him."

“Do you know why?” Coulson asks.

Clint huffs a breath, “No.”

“Has it occurred to you that he might be on drugs, or insane, or a fugitive or any other variation of person who needs to be somewhere that isn’t your hotel room?” Coulson asks.

“I got one of those over-the-counter piss tests. It doesn’t catch everything but he’s not on weed, cocaine, or heroin,” Clint says

“Don't think I didn't notice that you don't have an argument for criminal or crazy,” Coulson gestures towards the room door and he and Clint move farther away from the bathroom, “Okay. So obviously he’s been through some kind of trauma,” Coulson points at his own face in reference to the scars he saw on Jesse’s.

“Those aren’t the only ones,” Clint says, “I haven’t seen all of them but I know torture when I see it.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t think you’re in the best position to help. Maybe the police or a hospital,” Coulson says.

The bathroom door slams open, “NO! No fucking way! You said you wouldn’t call the cops Clint. Why is this guy even here?” Jesse shouts.

“I asked him to bring us Funyuns and that Neuro Sleep,” Clint says calmly and sticks out his hand. Coulson hands the bag over and Clint walks slowly to Jesse to give him the bag, “What is Neuro Sleep anyway?”

Jesse pulls a bottle out of the bag and stares at it, “It’s like a supplement or something. I was having a hard time sleeping so one of the Nazis gave me melatonin but that was too strong and then they found this stuff. It works pretty good,” Jesse uncaps the bottle and takes a few sips.

“Nazis?” Coulson’s phone ringing cuts him off, “This is Agent Coulson,” he says. Listening, he glances at Clint then says, “Yes sir, I’ve found him. We’re heading back to base now.”

“Clint?” Jesse’s voice is small and uncertain.

“Look, I have to go to work, but the room’s paid for under my name for the weekend. Here,” Clint gets his wallet and whips out a black credit card, “You can buy anything you want except for porn.”

Jesse steps forward to take the card, “Okay. You’ll be back tomorrow, right? Or, like, Sunday. I swear I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my money.”

Clint grabs his jacket off the chair, “Hey, don’t sweat it okay. Just get some sleep and we’ll figure out the rest when I get back.”

Jesse nods and chugs the rest of his Neurosleep.


	2. After Those 3 Minutes in the Rain

Clint comes back from his night in the rain to find Jesse playing video games in the hotel room. There is also an assortment of chemicals, pseudoephedrine, and match booklets, all untouched.

“What’s all this?” Clint gestures to the chemicals.

“It’s for a, uh, chemistry project. But I don’t have the right equipment and I didn’t really wanna do it anyways so…” Jesse never takes his eyes off the TV screen. “So are you gonna turn me in now?” Jesse’s voice is void of emotion.

“I don’t know. It seems to me that whatever you did, you’ve already paid for it.” Clint sits down on the bed.

“I guess.”

Clint picks up the second controller, “You know, stuff like that, sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

Jesse nods but doesn’t speak for several moments, “You know who Heisenberg is?"

“He was behind that super pure crystal meth, right? Blue Sky?” Clint recalls a newscast he heard two days earlier, “He just died.”

Jesse barks what could be mistaken for a laugh, “Yeah, finally. We used to be business partners,” Jesse starts pushing buttons more vigorously.

Clint pauses the game and turns to face Jesse, “What?”

Jesse continues to stare at the screen, “Yeah, it was supposed to be fifty/fifty but it turned to shit pretty quick. I didn’t figure that out for a while though,” Jesse puts down his controller and looks at Clint’s boots, “So, you gonna turn me in now?”

Clint inhales deeply, “Well you’re not making it easy, but I like to keep my promises. And to be honest, I’m not exactly the poster child for a legal lifestyle myself.”

Jesse scoffs, “Yeah? I’m pretty sure they don’t actually let criminals be federal agents.”

“Well, SHIELD isn’t exactly a federal agency. And I happen to have a very particular skill set that our agency needs,” Clint explains. “Actually, we might need someone with your chemistry talents. You know, in case you didn't have any plans.”

Jesse shakes his head, “I’m not a chemist. I’m a cook. Outside of that, I don’t have a lot of, like, marketable skills. I’m good at body disposal, I guess, but all you really need for that is a strong stomach and hydrofluoric acid.”

Clint purses his lips thoughtfully, “Acid…I never thought of that.”

Jesse narrows his eyes, “You get rid of a lot of bodies?”

“Uh, not recently. Not a lot before either just,” Clint shrugs, “I’m a sniper so sometimes there are bodies that need to be taken care of.”

Jesse huffs a laugh, “And now you think what, that you’re making up for it?”

Clint frowns, “Hey, we do good work.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Do you have a razor? I feel like Bigfoot ,” Jesse scratches his beard.

Clint fishes an electric razor out of his duffel bag and hands it over, “I gotta step outside to make a phone call.” Jesse gives a noncommittal wave over his shoulder as he shuffles to the bathroom. Once outside, Clint hits 1 on his speed dial.

“This is Natalie,” the voice on the other end says.

“Hey Tasha, I got a couple work related questions,” Clint sits on the hood of his car.

“Are you planning a new career as a secretary or lingerie model?”

“Have you ever used acid to get rid of a dead body?” Clint starts picking at a hangnail.

“Christ, Barton! Stark could be bugging this phone,” Natasha whispers furiously.

“Right, he’s bugging the backup burner phone that he’s never seen you use,” Clint rolls his eyes, “Answer the question.”

“No, I’ve never used acid. Anything strong enough to eat through a body can usually eat through anything containing the body. Do you think purple is a good color on me?”

“Purple is a good color on anybody. I’ll have to ask him about containers,” Clint replies.

“Ask who?”

Clint stands and begins to pace, “So that brings me to my next question. Let’s say you come across a guy who seemed to be having a tough time so you decided to help him out and then you learn that he has a history of cooking crystal meth and also may be a murderer but when you look in his eyes all you see is a scared kid. Would you still try to help him?”

Natasha sighs as she considers the question, “No, I’m not nearly that sentimental…but if I were the type of person who’d been ordered to take out an incredibly prolific assassin working for a rival organization but chose not to because I’d ‘seen something in her eyes’, then I’d probably stay true to my habit of picking up strays."

“Great, thanks. Hey, is Stark as much of a dick as he seems like on TV?” Clint asks.

“He’s an incredibly sexist, insensitive, and complex individual. Do you want a copy of the report I’m sending to Fury?

“Hell yeah! Awesome, okay, remind me to tell you about this guy I met,” Clint snaps the cellphone shut and heads back into the room. There is no buzzing of the razor but there is a soft, pitiful sound coming from the bathroom. “Jesse? You okay?” Clint asks through the door.

Jesse voice is ragged when he answers, “Yeah.”

“Can I come in?” Clint knocks on the door though it is already partially open.

“Sure.”

Clint pushes the door all the way open and sees Jesse leaning against the sink, half of his beard has been shaved off and Clint can now see a scar running along his right jaw line, “I’m not sure when this happened. You think I’d remember something like this,” Jesse says. 

Clint slowly places his hand on Jesse’s shoulder, “Look, Jesse, I’m not a trained professional so I probably shouldn’t be trying to give you advice, but I think I know a little about what you’ve been through. Sometimes the brain has a way of protecting itself from things it’s not ready to face.”

Jesse meets Clint’s gaze in the mirror as he turns the razor on again and brings it to his face with a trembling hand, “What if I’m never ready?”

Clint moves his hand from Jesse’s shoulder to take the razor, “Let’s just take things one at a time okay? We’ll get that rug off your face then get a couple beers. How’s that sound?”

Jesse shakes his head, “I can’t drink. I’m in recovery.” He turns obligingly when Clint motions him to and Clint begins to run the razor over Jesse’s face.  
“Okay, well,” Clint frowns in thought, “How about some new clothes? Those look…lived in.”

“No, I think it’s time to get my money,” Jesse tilts his head up when Clint nudges his chin.

“And where is this money, exactly?” Clint turns the razor off and begins to take it apart to clean.

“It’s buried in the desert,” Jesse grabs a towel to wipe off his face.

Clint scoffs and raises an eyebrow, “Buried? In the desert?” He shakes his head, “Come on Jesse, you gotta know how clichéd that sounds.”

“I swear to God,” Jesse takes Clint by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye, “I swear on the graves of my two dead girlfriends, there is a barrel full of money buried in the desert outside Albuquerque and I will give you half of it if you take me there, alright? Fifty/fifty.”

Clint returns Jesse’s gaze, “Okay. I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea but it sounds awesome.”

Clint pulls out his phone and texts Coulson, Gotta take PTO for a family emergency. 15 seconds later the phone rings, “Hey Coulson. Sorry to spring it on you like this, but emergencies happen you know?”

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if I didn’t know you don’t have ties close enough to living relatives to be concerned about their emergencies. That said, you do have an ungodly amount of time off saved up, so I’m giving you the weekend. Take care of it.”

“Yes!” Clint pumps his fist, “Thank you sir. I’ll send you a post card,” Clint snaps his phone shut, picks up his bag and opens the door, “Shall we?” Jesse grins.


	3. In the Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos!  
> Once again I have to recommend The Penal Colony.  
> "A first sign of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die." Franz Kafka

Jesse is silent in the car, gazing into the middle distance with a soft smile on his face. After several pointed glances in Jesse’s direction, Clint breaks the silence, “So, I will eventually need directions.”

Jesse snaps out of his reverie, “What? Yeah, yeah okay, just keep going straight for now.”

“You mind if I ask where you were just now?”

Jesse looks at his hands, “It’s private.”

Clint nods his head, “Okay. For me, I spent some time in a circus as an archer, so whenever I need to get away, that’s where I go. Just this empty archery range in my head.”

Jesse’s eyes widen, “You were in the circus? Yo, that’s awesome! Why would you give that up?”

Clint tilts his head, “Well, it turned out my mentor was a criminal and he wanted me to participate in his criminal undertakings and when I said no he broke my legs and convinced the carnival to ditch me.”

“Wow, what a bitch,” Jesse shakes his head, “Still, at least you were smart enough to get out early. I was already living the lifestyle so…”

Clint quirks an eyebrow, “The lifestyle?”

“Yeah, like, the criminal lifestyle. Small time cook doing small time business. And it was good, you know? It paid the bills. Then I almost got busted and Mr. White saw me and, like, totally blackmailed me into working with him.”

“How’d he blackmail you?” Clint asks.

“Said he’d turn me into to his DEA brother-in-law,” Jesse explains. He starts shaking his head and his eyes turn glassy with tears. Jesse grabs handfuls of his hair and tugs hard, “FUCK!” and begins to sob.

Clint winces, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to set you off.”

Jesse takes a ragged breath after a few moments, “No, it’s okay. Not your fault I’m a fucking basket case.” He abruptly breaks into giggles. Moments later he sits up in his seat, “Turn here.”

Clint turns off the main highway and onto a dirt road, “Why’d you decide to bury it in the desert?”

“One of the Nazis, Todd, got the idea from Mr. White. Todd’s the one who buried my money. He said he’d give it to this kid I knew but I’m pretty sure he was just lying to cheer me up.”

Clint snorts, “No offense, but why would they want to cheer you up?”

“I don’t cook as good when I’m depressed. And you can’t always beat or rape a guy into optimism, you know?” Jesse says mechanically.

Clint nods his head once, "Right, shoulda seen that coming I guess.”

Jesse looks over, “Sorry. I know it’s, like, TMI or whatever but I just…I haven’t had anyone to talk to in a while and sometimes…” he shrugs.

“Hey, look, it’s ok. Like I said, I know a little about being held prisoner,” Clint says, “And I have a friend who’s been through worse than me so I don’t think you’re going to shock me. It just sucks that you had to go through it.”

“Yeah. Turn here,” Jesse says and Clint steers the car off the road into the desert proper. “See that big ass rock?”

“Yup,” Clint says and heads for the landmark. When they reach the rock Clint turns off the car and pops the trunk open. Pulling out two shovels, he hands one to Jesse and asks, “So where do we dig?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody out there watch SHIELD? I have no idea if my Phil is in character.


	4. I am free and that is why I am lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Jesse handle money and talk.

“I don’t believe it,” Clint says, staring at the hole in front of him.

Jesse slaps him on the back, “Believe it, bitch.” Rather than jump straight in, Jesse sits on the edge of the hole then takes the short fall to the ground, “Come on, this is heavy.” 

Clint does jump straight down and gives the barrel a test shove to see how heavy it really is. “Okay, the trick here is to lift with your legs, not with your back.”

Jesse rolls his eyes, “I may be stupid but I’m not a moron,” He mimics Clint and squats down. They manage to get the barrel out of the hole on the first try. Clint climbs out of the hole easily enough but Jesse leans against the dirt wall, breathing heavily.

“You need a hand?” Clint asks.

Jesse sighs, “Yeah,” and he reaches a hand up so Clint can help him out. Once he is topside, he unclasps the lid to show that the barrel is in fact full of money. “So, how does it feel to be a millionaire?”

“I’m gonna have to get back to you on that,” Clint says, “I mean, this is drug money right?”

Jesse’s eyes narrow, “So? It’s my money. I earned it. And I’m giving you half of it so you should be fucking grateful.”

“I am. Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much money in my life,” Clint says, then shakes his head, “But my bosses would ask questions.”

“Yeah, well screw your bosses man! You don’t even need a job now,” Jesse picks up a bundle of cash and tosses it at Clint, then brushes past him to get a duffel bag out of the car. He opens the bag furiously and begins stuffing bills inside.

After burying the barrel again, they head back to Clint’s hotel room. Jesse nods off in the passenger seat and it soon becomes evident that he is having a nightmare. Clint contemplates shaking him awake when Jesse wakes himself with a scream, “No!” He immediately starts to hyperventilate.

“You alright?” Clint asks with concern.

Jesse shakes his head no, “Can you pull over?”

The car hasn’t even come to a complete stop before Jesse throws open the door and scrambles out. He takes a few steps then falls to his knees and vomits. Clint grabs a Gatorade from the cup holder and gets out of the car.

“Here,” Clint says, holding the bottle out. Jesse looks up miserably from the ground, then takes the bottle from Clint’s hand.

“Thanks,” he grumbles before taking a swig, swishing it around in his mouth, and spitting it out. “Ugh, gross.” Jesse rinses his mouth again and swallows the next few sips.

“You okay?” Clint asks.

“No! No, I am not okay, alright. I am the farthest thing from okay! I don’t even know what okay means anymore so stop fucking asking me if I’m okay!”

Clint raises his hands and steps back from the onslaught, “Sorry, sorry, I just meant are you okay to get in the car?”

Jesse appears wrung out from his outburst, “Give me a minute,” he says. He finishes the Gatorade and chucks it over his shoulder.

Clint looks at the bottle a few feet away, “Really?”

“What?” Jesse shrugs. Clint walks over to get the bottle while Jesse gets back in the car. Silence reigns in the car until Jesse asks, “Seriously, why don’t you quit your job?”

“I like my job. I’m good at it,” Clint says.

“Really? You’re job, where you kill people for a living, you like it?” Jesse’s voice is a mix of skepticism and fear.

“I don’t kill people for a living,” Clint says defensively.

“Right,” Jesse nods, “You just sometimes have to get rid of bodies because of, like, your ‘special skill set’”

“First of all, you don’t know anything about my job and if you did, I might have to get rid of another body. Second, you don’t see me sitting here, judging your checkered illegal career,” Clint snaps.

Jesse’s face goes pale, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me,” he whispers, pulling his legs up and trying to shrink back into the corner of the seat, where it meets the car door.

“No,” Clint says after a moment, “I’m sorry. I got a little carried away there. And, no offense, but you are very small potatoes compared to my usual targets.”

“Oh, yeah, that totally makes me feel so much better,” Jesse says as his gaze shifts to stare out the window.

Clint drums his fingers on the steering wheel, “You know who you should to talk to? Tony Stark.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Jesse squints into the rising dawn.

“Because you two have a lot in common,” Clint says.

Jesse’s jaw drops and he slowly swivels his head to stare at Clint, “Are you fucking kidding. Me and Tony Stark? What could we possibly have in common?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe creating and selling products that only cause harm. Which eventually led to you both being kidnapped and enslaved.” Clint nods has he wraps up his comparison.

“Yeah, except one of us built a suit of armor and busted out. The other one had to wait for his evil ass father figure to save the day.”

Clint frowns, “Yeah. There is that.”

“Besides,” Jesse shakes his head, “The guy’s a billionaire. He doesn’t have time for lowlifes like me.”

“You’re not a lowlife,” Clint immediately counters.

“If you knew even half the things I’ve done, you wouldn’t say that,” Jesse says.

They continue the drive in silence until Clint turns on the radio *as officials widen their search for Jesse Pinkman, a known associate of Walter White, whose fingerprints were found at the compound* Clint turns the radio off but not before Jesse starts to hyperventilate again.

“Shit,” Jesse breather, “Shit! I am such an idiot!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Clint attempts a soothing tone.

“You heard them, my prints are all over the place. God, they’re even on a gun!” Jesse reaches his hands up to tug on his hair, “Gaah!

“Jesse, calm down, okay. I promise I can help you with this but you need to calm down,” Clint says.

“Unless you can give me a new identity, I really don’t think there’s a lot you can do to help.”

“I’m a secret agent. New identities come with the job,” Clint explains.

“Yeah, well I’m not a secret agent. And that Coulson guy will kick me to the curb as soon as he finds out who I am.”

Clint’s phone rings and he grimaces when he sees the caller i.d. “Hey, Coulson. What’s up?”

“You’re not going to believe who I saw on the local news,” Coulson’s voice, bland as ever, comes through the line.

“I hear Elvis has been making the rounds,” Clint says in response.

“Jesse Pinkman, wanted in connection with the deaths of Walter White and several Neo Nazis 3 days ago. Walter White, also known as Heisenberg, has been at the center of a methamphetamine operation for the better part of 2 years. The young man in the mug shot on TV bears a striking resemblance to the man who locked himself in your bathroom. Please tell me you are not aiding and abetting his escape from local and federal law enforcement officials.”

“Of course not,” Clint says.

“Don’t lie to me Barton,” Coulson’s voice hardens.

“Uh, of course not, but more convincing?” Clint glances over to Jesse and gives him a thumbs up.

“This isn’t like Romanov, Clint. There are going to be consequences that I can’t protect you from.”

“I’m a big boy sir. How’s the hammer?” Clint asks.

“The situation resolved itself. Unfortunately, there was some collateral damage.”

Clint frowns, “How much?”

“A lot.”

“I’m looking forward to reading the report sir. I’m gonna need a couple more days,” Clint says.

“If I see your face on the news, I’ll erase you from our files myself.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared, boss,” Clint snaps his phone shut and looks over to see Jesse staring at him in wide eyed wonder. “What?”

“Nothing, just, uh, most people who help me out do it because they want something from me or they think they can use me. I got no idea why you’d want to keep me around,” Jesse explains.

“Well, you did make me a millionaire,” Clint says with a grin. “You ever been to New York?”

“No. Why?” Jesse asks.

“I’ve got a safe house there. It’s as good a place as any to regroup. Actually, it’s better because only one other person knows it’s there and she’s in California,” Clint explains.

“Is she an agent, too?”

“Yup, and she’s even more secret than me. Hey, you want to get more of that Neurosleep stuff? You could probably use the rest,” Clint suggests.

“Okay,” Jesse says as he runs the fingers of his right hand over a scar circling his left wrist. Clint notices a matching scar on Jesse’s right hand.

“You must’ve fought pretty hard against those handcuffs to get scars like that,” Clint says.

“I don’t wanna talk about that,” Jesse says.

“Okay,” Clint says agreeably has he pulls into a Wal-mart parking lot. “You good waiting in the car?” Jesse nods.

Clint’s phone rings as he walks through the sliding doors, “Hola, mi amiga. Que pasa?”

“I hear your new pet is on the Feds’ most wanted list.”

“He’s not a pet!” Clint says fiercely, “And Coulson is turning into a gossip.”

“He’s worried. There’s a difference between bringing in a highly trained spy slash assassin who’s been living under the radar her entire life and helping a meth dealer whose name and face are on every TV station in the country evade law enforcement. He is pretty cute, though. I can see why you want him.”

Clint grabs 4 bottles of Neurosleep and throws them in his shopping cart, “Okay A) I don’t want him and B) he’s not as cute as he used to be. Anyway I’m heading to the place in New York. Can you meet me there or are you still playing sexy secretary?”

“Nope, I’m done with Stark, thank God.”

Clint steers the cart toward apparel, “Great, hey speaking of Stark. Do you know what kind of therapy he got after Afghanistan?”

“Therapy, you’re kidding right? Was your guy kidnapped too?”

Clint pulls a couple shirts off a rack and moves over to the hoodies, “Yeah, he was. Chained up in a hole in the ground or in a meth lab for I’m not sure how long.” He heads to the pants section and picks up a pair of jeans, holding them against his waist before throwing them in the cart.  
“And you think, what? That you’re gonna heal his broken soul?” Natasha asks.

Clint snags a pair of sneakers, “Skepticism, thy name is Romanov. Meet me there. Bring food. Don’t bring alcohol. He’s in recovery,” Clint snaps his phone shut and grabs a pair of sunglasses on his way to the checkout line.

When he gets outside, Clint doesn’t see Jesse’s head in the car window. As he gets closer, he sees that Jesse has huddled down into the foot well. Clint opens the back door and puts the bags on the back seat. Sitting in the front seat, he puts a bottle of Neurosleep in the cup holder.

“I know you’re nervous about being spotted but I’d feel more comfortable if you put a seat belt on,” Clint says. Jesse slowly crawls back into the seat and buckles his seat belt. Clint reaches in the bag behind him and pulls out the sunglasses, “Here,” he says, holding them out. Jesse takes the sunglasses and slips them on, then opens the bottle of Neurosleep and chugs it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter title is another quote by Franz Kafka.


	5. I am a cage, in search of a bird.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, they're still in the car?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of using Kafka quotes as chapter titles. Because there is not a whole lot of MCU Hawkeye canon, I'm drawing some back story from the comics.

Jesse jerks awake when Clint shakes his shoulder, “I gotta sleep now. Are you good to drive or do you want to get a room?” Clint asks.

Jesse takes his sunglasses off and rubs his eyes, “I can drive,” He says and opens the door to step out of the car. He stretches with a wince and attempts to take longer strides as he walks around the car.

“Hey, it looks like your steps are getting bigger. Loosening up, huh?” Clint says cheerily as he passes.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, sliding behind the wheel. “So I just do what the GPS says, it’s not gonna steer me into a store window or anything?”

Clint chuckles, “Nah, it’s state of the art. This’ll take you right to the closest parking spot.”

Jesse turns the ignition, “Awesome.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, adjusting the seat to a more supine position, “Remind me to tell you about an idea I had.”

Jesse briefly glances over, “Okay.”

Clint wakes as soon as he feels the car decelerate and veer a bit too sharply to the right. He recognizes that Jesse is hyperventilating before they even come to a full stop.

“Jesse?” Clint asks. Jesse doesn’t respond but tears begin to well in his eyes, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I have a brother,” Jesse whispers.

“What?” Clint is surprised at the non-sequitur but knows it must be related to Jesse’s emotional crisis.

“I have a little brother,” Jesse’s voice gets louder, “And parents. I have a family. But Mom and Dad gave up on me a while ago. They probably never even looked for me. Just kept living their happy, suburban, little lives.”

“Jesse, come on. You don’t know that,” Clint says. 

"I’m never going to see them again,” Jesse says.

“You don’t know that either,” Clint counters. "Jesse. Jesse look at me. That carnival I used to be in? My big brother was in it too. And when they left me, he left too. I didn't think I'd ever see him again and it sucked. It really fucking sucked because even though I kind of hated him for abandoning me, he was my brother, you know?"

"How does that?" Jesse begins.

"Because I did see him again. Ten years later and it was weird because we were both very different people. So, you know, maybe a family reunion isn't in your immediate future but that's no reason to rule it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. You're all like, wtf? Why's it so short?


	6. Don't bend; don't water it down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6, I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly." I wish I could have had a conversation with Franz Kafka. I think we could have been very strange friends.  
> And thanks to heyjupiter and celeryy! Your input was invaluable.  
> And one more warning:I will be adding tags to this as they become appropriate so check carefully.

_back in the car on the way to Kansas City because that's where the best BBQ in the country is according to one Clinton Francis Barton. ___

____

“You mind if I ask a question?” Clint asks.

“Go for it,” Jesse says.

“What about that kid you said was supposed to get the money?"

Jesse takes a moment before answering, “I don’t know how I’d get it to him. Before, my lawyer would drop off money for me and it was easier then ‘cause Andrea, Brock’s mom, knew who I was so she didn’t ask a lot of questions. But now she’s dead and he's an orphan and I don’t even know where he lives. Also,” Jesse shakes his head and chuckles at his situation, “I’m completely broke. After all of it, everything I’ve been through, this is the only thing I have left.”

“What’s Brock’s last name?” Clint asks.

“Cantillo. Why? You think you can find him?” Jesse’s voice turns somewhat hopeful.

“Yeah, I think we can find him,” Clint says with a smile.

“But I don’t wanna see him, you know? I just want to make sure that he’s okay. I mean, as okay as he can be,” Jesse shrugs and says, “Can I ask you a question?”

Clint nods his head and says, “Shoot.”

“What happened to you? Like, what makes you think you can relate to me or whatever?”

“Well, a lot of that is classified but basically I was a P.O.W. for a war that never happened,” Clint says.

“For how long?” Jesse sits up in his seat, curious.

“ ‘Bout a year, I think. It felt longer, though.”

“What’d they do to you?” Jesse asks.

Clint sighs and says, “They started out with the really lame stuff like pulling out my finger nails or using a cattle prod on my junk.”

Jesse sucks in a breath and says, “Yo, you got a weird definition of lame.”

Clint waves a hand, “Whatever. I held out long enough for any of my information to be useless and that’s when they decided to get creative.” Clint pauses and waits for Jesse to respond

“Why didn’t they just kill you if you weren’t useful anymore?” Jesse asks.

Clint huffs in frustration and says “I don’t know. I’d like to think it was my winning personality. Look, okay, I’m not very good at this subtle interrogation shit so I’m just going to come right out and say it. I need you tell me about yourself. I need you to explain to me why you started, why you really started cooking meth. And I need to know that you’ve really given up being one of the bad guys.”

Jesse recoils in reaction to the blatant demand but he fires back, “Fuck you! I don’t gotta tell you shit!”

Clint shakes his head, pulls the car over to the side of the road and says, “We’re not gonna do this while I’m driving. Jesse, I know you don’t like it and I don’t like it either, but you were kinda up shit creek when I volunteered to be your paddle.” Clint stops short as he parses his own words, “That didn’t come out the way it was supposed to. But I stuck my neck out for you. The minute you said you’d been cooking crystal meth for a bunch of Neo-Nazis I had a choice. I could have turned you into the police, which my boss still thinks is the best course of action. Or I could wait until I got the whole story because…I mean, look at you. There’s gotta be more to it than that. You know that friend I was talking about? She’s a very successful spy slash assassin and for a while she didn’t seem to care how many innocent people died in the process. But I sort of felt like maybe she didn’t really understand how wrong that was.” Clint notices Jesse’s interest start to fade, “It turns out she was kidnapped at a very young age and brainwashed into being that way.”’

Jesse considers Clint’s speech for several moments then asks, “So? What’s your point?”

“The point,” Clint says calmly, “is that I am trying to build what interviewers call _rapport _. I just shared a personal piece of information in the hopes that you might share a piece of information of similar value. And I’m looking for the good stuff, you know. Why should I be helping you?”__

__Jesse shakes his head and answers, “Nothing. There’s nothing really good about me.”_ _

__“No. You want to help Brock, right? That’s something good. Now come on, tell me something else, something that you do well.”_ _

__“I’m good at cooking meth,” Jesse says with a voice full of certainty._ _

__Clint rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, I get that. Tell me something else you’re good at. Or at least want to be good at.”_ _

__Jesse contemplates the question then says, “I’m good at woodworking. I mean, I think I could be good at wood working. That’s uh, that’s my place, yo. Whenever I get like, tired of the real world, I just sort of imagine I’m in this woodworking shop, making all these totally awesome boxes.”_ _

__“Boxes,” Clint repeats, “ That’s really…cool.”_ _

__Jesse rolls his eyes, “Shut up. It’s kinda…it’s therapeutic, that’s the word, right? Yeah, therapeutic.”_ _

__“That, I can understand,” Clint says nodding his head._ _

__“So, uh,” Jesse says with a glance at Clint’s crotch, “Does everything still…work…down there?”_ _

__Clint smirks and gives Jesse a sideways glance. “Yeah. Why?”_ _

__“Just curious,” Jesse says defensively. "I mean, I'm not a faggot or anything."_ _

__Clint frowns and says, "Okay, I don't usually go for all the pc "let's not offend anyone" talk but I'd prefer it if you didn't use that word."_ _

__"I mean, I'm not gay, you know? Doing all that stuff does't make me gay." Jesse continues his argument._ _

__"Yeah, believe me, I know," Clint says._ _

Jesse blinks furiously and Clint's not sure whether he's about to cry or zone out when Jesse's says, "Oh. Okay then. Just, you know, in case you were wondering."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! What an abrupt ending! Also, you should check out warriorpoet's new fic, it's effing awesome.  
> And I want to thank everyone who kudosed, especially elektraeriseros, who miraculously managed to kudos more than once. It really leaves a mark.


	7. Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while!

Clint taps his fingers on the wheel, and then says, “So, I’ve got a question for you”

“Shoot,” Jesse says as he squints into the sunset.

“What are your plans for the foreseeable future?” Clint asks.

“The foreseeable future? How should I know?” Jesses asks in return.

“Well you’ve gotta have some notion of what your next move is,” Clint says.

“Well, I need to get the cops off my back right?” Jesse suggests.

“Yeah, okay, but beyond that, let’s say the cops and the feds are not an issue. What do you want to do for the rest of your life?” Clint asks.

“I don’t know,” Jesse says with a shrug, “I’m not always really good at planning ahead. To be honest, I’d kind of given up you know? I really didn’t see any way out of my spectacularly awful situation other than dying. So this is all,” Jesse waves a hand that encompasses the universe, “pretty fucking surreal.”

“Well, I have a suggestion,” Clint says lightly, “I think I can work out a deal between you and my boss.”

“What kind of deal?” Jesse asks warily.

“The kind where you don’t get found by the authorities and we use my money to really trick out my safe house,” Clint says.

“What?” Jesse asks.

“If I can convince the higher ups that you would be an asset to our division, they’ll protect you,” Clint explains.

“That is,” Jesse starts, then shakes his head and says, “That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Like, seriously, that makes no sense.”

Clint raises an eyebrow, “Yeah? Look, no offense, but from where I’m sitting you don’t have a lot of options. SHIELD has resources that I think could be really good for you.”

Jesse takes a moment to weigh his options, “Better than prison, I guess.”

“Way better than prison,” Clint says.

“Look, I get it. You don’t have to,” Jesse breaks into a sudden fit of coughing. It lasts long enough for Clint to become seriously concerned. Eventually, Jesse settles into silence, taking slightly shallow breaths.

“Jesus. My lungs hurt from watching that,” Clint says.

“Yeah,” Jesse says softly, “Fuckers only had one mask and it wasn't for me.” He leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes and taking deeper breaths, “You think we can stop for food soon?”

Clint glances at the GPS and says, “We’re about an hour from Kansas City and I know a great BBQ place there. Think you can last that long?” 

“Yeah, I think so. So,” Jesse opens his eyes, “Me working for SHIELD. And what is SHIELD, exactly?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention and Logistics Division is a mouthful is what it is. That’s why we decided to call it SHIELD,” Clint says.

“And you don’t think my recent past as a bad guy is gonna get in the way?” Jesse asks.

“If you’re serious about turning your life around. And I mean really serious, none of that shit you pulled at the hotel. You cannot EVER cook meth again.”

“I won’t,” Jesse says quickly, “I’m really sorry about that.” Jesse’s gaze turns inward as he searches for an explanation. “I just. I needed to do something…familiar.”

Clint looks critically at Jesse for a moment and says, “Okay. Good. I think maybe we'll stop at a drug store in KC, too and pick up some supplies”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: BBQ!


	8. First impressions are always unreliable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell yeah Barbecue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to heyjupiter and celeryy again for advice and grammar. All mistakes are my own  
> This is dedicated to the first official trailer for Guardians of the Galaxy. Check it out on youtube.

“You ready for this?” Clint asks as they pull into the parking lot of Fiorella’s Jack Stack.

Jesse steels himself with a deep breath, nods, and says, “Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Okay, remember, hood up and sunglasses on at all times,” Clint says.

“Isn’t that kinda…sketchy?” Jesse asks.

“Hey, better to look sketchy than look like Jesse Pinkman,” Clint answers. 

“Right,” Jesse says, slipping aviator sunglasses over his eyes and tugging the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Jesse pauses just inside the door and swivels his head side to side, “Oh my god that smells so good,” he says softly.

“Tastes even better,” Clint says.

A perky hostess pops around the corner, “Welcome to Fiorella’s, guys! Just the two of you?” She asks.

“Yeah. Booth, please,” Clint says.

After leading Jesse and Clint to their seats, she hands out two menus and says, “Jeff will be right over to take your orders.”

“So uh,” Jesse begins but stops short when the aforementioned Jeff approaches their table.

“How’s it going?” Jeff asks with a toothy grin, “What can I get you fellas to drink?”

“Uh, Coke,” Jesse says with his face buried in the menu.

“Yeah, same for me,” Clint says.

Jeff jots it down on his notepad and says, “Great. I’ll be back with your drinks in a few.”

“So uh,” Jesse starts again, “What do you think I can do for SHIELD?”

“Well, the first thing you can do is not say that word in public. We try to keep a low profile,” Clint explains. “I still think you might be selling yourself short on the chemistry thing. I mean, those guys kept you around for a reason, right?”

“Yeah, their cook wasn’t as good as me. I mean, he worked with Mr. White for a while and I kept showing him but I guess he just couldn’t pick it up,” Jesse says.

“So you could say that you have an aptitude for that sort of thing,” Clint suggests.

Jesse hesitates for a while before half-asking, “I guess?”

Clint nods and looks up as Jeff returns.

“Here you go,” Jeff says, putting the drinks on the table, “Any questions about the menu?”

“Uh,” Jesse mumbles, “I’ll uh,” his jaw starts moving spasmodically, “um.”

After several seconds Clint says “If I could make a suggestion.”

“Please!” Jesse says and nods vigorously.

“The half slab and baked potato are a great combination. And I’ll have the pulled pork sandwich and coleslaw. And can we get some of those cheese biscuit things?” Clint says, handing his menu over. Jesse follows suit.

“Coming right up!”Jeff says. Clint frowns at the wink Jeff flashes before the waiter heads to the kitchen but Jesse is oblivious, head bowed and staring a hole into the table top. 

“So, Jesse,” Clint says. “Jesse, hey, are you with me here?” Jesse slowly lifts his head. “In regards to the deal, let’s also consider a completely different track. How good are you with computers?”

“I don’t know. I’m not what you’d call a hacker but I know couple tricks…mostly related to downloading videogames and movies and…stuff,” Jesse finishes with a shrug.

Clint purses his lips thoughtfully. “Well, what about something a little more mundane. Think you could handle something like data entry?” he asks.  


Jesse huffs a bark of laughter that Clint wouldn’t mind hearing more of and says, “Data entry. Wow, that’s. My dad used to say I should try to get a job doing that data entry stuff. It just sounds _so boring _.”__

“Okay so, um, we’ll table that part of the deal. You know how in some spy movies there’ll be a store. It looks like every other store but it’s actually just a front for a spy base?” Clint asks.

“Sure,” Jesse says.

“Well, I always thought it was really cool and I kind of want one. Not an actual spy station, but it could be like, a secret bachelor pad just when you want to get away from all your weird friends/slash coworkers or a bolt hole. You ever heard of that?” Clint asks.

Jesse frowns and asks, “Isn’t that where meerkats go whenever they’re like, under threat from some eagle trying to snatch them?” 

“Yes that, too. Anyway I think several million dollars will go a long way towards making that happen,” Clint says.

Jesse nods his head and whispers, “Yeah bitch! Bolt holes!”

“What was that?” Clint asks.

“That uh,” Jesse increase his volume slight, “That sounds amazing. Don’t you think we should be keeping all this stuff on the quiet side of things?” he says with a tilt of his, gesturing to the eaters around them.

“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up in conversation. I wouldn’t mind talking about all the movies that came out while you were, you know,” Clint sighs in frustration as he sees Jesse start to unravel a bit, “Wow I made that awkward fast. Sorry.”

Jesse takes several fortifying breaths.“No,” he says forcefully and shakes his head, “When bad shit happens, you gotta face it. You gotta, you know, accept that there are some things you can’t change. You can’t go back and fix your mistakes, you gotta move forward.”

Clint nods his head. “That’s the spirit. Alright, so after lunch, we’ll head to the pharmacy and pick up some pain killers and stuff and then we’ll see about switching vehicles. Ah, yes,” he says with glee as Jeff brings their order over, “I have been waiting years for this!”

"Enjoy it,” Jeff says with another smile and sideways glance at Clint.

“Huh,” Clint says, eyeing the extra napkin Jeff brought.

“What?” Jesse asks around a mouthful of potato, sour cream, cheese and barbecued bits.

Clint opens the fold of paper that had been hidden in the napkin, he chuckles then flips it around so Jesse can see it, “It’s his phone number.”

Jesse leans away from the table as if the slip of paper might come after him at any moment’s notice, “Ugh,” he groans.

“I mean, it’s flattering right? You should meet some of the waitresses who give me their numbers,” Clint says. 

“Whatever, just keep ‘em all away from me,” Jesse says as he takes another bite of potato and groans in pleasure, “This is amazing.”

“Look, man, I get that you’re uncomfortable with what happened but if you could cool it down on the homophobia, I’m sure Jeff would really appreciate it,” Clint says.

“Hey, I said _all of them _. Dudes, chicks, whatever. I’m tired of fucking sex,” Jesse says, tearing into a rib.__

__“That wasn’t,” Clint starts but Jesse stabs his rib in Clint’s direction._ _

__“Yeah, I know, it’s not the same.” Jesse says viciously, “I’m still done with it.”_ _

__“Okay, I can dig it,” Clint says._ _

__Jesse chews thoughtfully then asks, “So…are you?”_ _

__“Am I…what?” Clint asks back._ _

__“Are you gay?” Jesse whispers as he leans forward._ _

__Clint leans forward as well and whispers back, “I’m kind of complicated.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who kudosed!


	9. I usually solve problems by letting them devour me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, you know, stuff happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the new readers who have kudosed (is that a verb?) it is super inspiring.  
> Thanks again to heyjupiter and celeryy

“I’m just saying, out of the three I think red would look best,” Clint says as they sit in the parked car outside of Walgreens.

“No, I want black,” Jesse says emphatically for the third time.

Clint frowns and says, “Fine. I’ve got scissors and spirit gum so facial hair is an option. We’re gonna have to do something about your wrist though.”

Jesse pulls self-consciously at his sleeves and asks, “I thought you said gauze would do the trick?”

“For the cuts, yeah. But that’s a pretty distinctive tattoo. You have any other tattoos?” Clint asks.

“A couple. Nowhere anyone can see them though, you know, as long as I got clothes on,” Jesse says, and then burps unceremoniously. “You weren’t kidding about that barbecue.”

“Fiorella’s Jack Stack. Remember it. Okay, I’ll be in and out in 2 minutes tops. If you see anything suspicious, try not to lose your shit, just push this,” Clint says as he hands a panic button to Jesse. Jesse hovers his thumb over the red button, resisting the urge to give it a test. Clint nods at him and says, “Go ahead.” Jesse pushes the button and Clint’s phone chimes. He flips the phone over so Jesse can see the screen, which is flashing red. “It’s a red alert. Like from Star Trek.”

Jesse chuckles and says, “Oh my god, fucking Star Trek.” He shakes his head with a smile. “Thanks.”

They stop at a motel in St Louis to give Jesse his makeover.

“You know, I think black was a good call after all,” Clint says as he watches Jesse examine his hair in the bathroom mirror. “Okay, let’s take another look at those wrists.”

Jesse rolls up his sleeves, exposing the raw flesh beneath. Looking his hands over, he says, “It, uh, looks better right?”

Clint shakes his head in an indecisive manner and smears some antibiotic ointment over the abrasions. Pulling out a roll of gauze, he begins to wrap it around Jesse’s wrists and says, “They’ll be on the mend soon. You mind if I lift your shirt? You’ve been favoring your left side for a while.”

Jesse’s gaze drifts sideways and he says, “I don’t really…I mean it’s fine. It’ll get better.”

“It might get better,” Clint says. “It also might get worse and I’d rather not have you keel over in the car. Look, the bathroom is a safe zone, alright? No questions.” Jesse keeps his eyes averted but nods his head slowly. Clint takes the hem of Jesse’s shirt and pulls it up. Holding the shirt in one hand, Clint ghosts his other hand over a ring of bruises circling Jesse’s ribs. He makes a mental note of all the scars he feels. When he reaches a tender spot on the left side, Jesse hisses in pain and Clint takes his hand away. “Sharp pain or dull pain?” Clint asks.

“Uh. Dull, I guess,” Jesse says.

“Okay, it doesn’t feel displaced so I’ll wrap it for now, and get an x-ray in New York,” Clint says as he begins to wrap an ace bandage around Jesse’s ribs, “Got any other open wounds?” Clint asks.

“Yeah, but it’s in kind of a, uh, sensitive spot,” Jesse says with a grimace.

Clint pins two metal clasps in the bandage and lets Jesse’s shirt fall. “How sensitive?” he asks.

Jesse hesitates, then unbuttons his jeans and shimmies them down carefully. Clint can see a wad of toilet paper peeking out from the waistband of his boxer shorts. Jesse pulls the right leg of his shorts up and gently peels away the makeshift bandage. Clint whistles lowly when he sees what’s been carved into the meat of Jesse’s thigh.

“Yeah,” Jesse says as he eyes the crudely cut letters, “I spend years calling everyone and their mother a bitch and then I get turned into one. It’s like, totally ironic.”

Clint bends down to take a closer look and says, “Shit.”

“What?” Jesse asks.

“That’s infected. Bad,” Clint answers.

“That’s what they make Neosporin for, right?” Jesse asks.

“This is past the point of Neosporin. See that yellow pus and those red lines leading out? You’re gonna need some serious antibiotics for that,” Clint says.

“Shit!” Jesse breathes.

“It’s okay,” Clint assures him with a wave of his hand, “I’ve got some in the glove compartment. But, you know, infections can be tricky so tell me if it gets worse. Also, let me know if you get dizzy or start coughing up blood. I can work in an ER visit if it’s absolutely necessary.”

“You just randomly keep antibiotics in your car. What are you, MacGyver? You got a way out of everything?” Jesse asks as he rubs some ointment on the vibrant letters gracing his leg like a brand. He holds out his hand and Clint passes him a square of gauze.

Clint opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by the ring of his phone. He holds up a finger after seeing the caller id and says, “Hang on, I gotta take this. Hey Natasha, what’ve you got for me?” Clint steps out of the bathroom.

“A light blue Mazda minivan circa 1994. Be gentle with her,” Natasha says, “How’s the new puppy?”

“Goddammit, enough with the stray jokes! I’m trying to save this guy’s life,” Clint says.

“And I’m helping. I’m taking a risk here too, and I’m doing an excellent job keeping it hidden from Coulson so you’re welcome. How far out are you?” Natasha asks.

“Another day. I'm trying to book it because he’s got some medical issues I want to get checked out,” Clint says, heading outside to retrieve the antibiotics, “So where is it?” he asks, opening the car door and leaning inside.

“Across the parking lot. With me.” Natasha says.

Clint whips his head up so fast he smacks it on the roof of the car. He scans the parking lot until he spots the car. Natasha is sitting behind the wheel and gives a little wave. “What are you doing here?” Clint hisses.

“I’m curious,” Natasha says as she gets out of the van.

“Get back in the car,” Clint orders sternly.

“No,” Natasha says and snaps her phone shut as she gets closer.

“Natasha,” Clint says, still speaking into his cell phone.

“You’re being selfish,” Natasha says, taking Clint’s phone, closing it, and slipping it into Clint’s pocket.

Clint furrows his eyebrows in confusion, “How am I being selfish?”

“Not introducing me to your new friend,” Natasha says. She tries to step around Clint but he moves to block her.

Clint continues to walk backward as Natasha advances towards the room door “Look, he’s still really nervous around people. He had a panic attack in the Walgreens because some biker dude reminded him of this Nazi he knew and--” Clint breaks off when he hears a crash come from inside the room. Rushing inside, Clint sees that the bedside lamp has met an untimely end against the bathroom mirror. Jesse is still in front of the mirror, staring furiously at his shattered reflection and still gripping the lamp in his hand, “Jesse?” Clint says. Jesse turns to face Clint and brandishes the lamp when he sees Natasha. “No, hey, it’s cool. She’s another friend of mine, the one I told you about in the car. This is Natasha. Natasha, this is Jesse.”

“Hi,” Natasha says. Jesse slams the bathroom door shut and locks it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be coming more slowly due to real life complications but I'm still in it to win it.


	10. I think differently from the way I ought to think,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Conlcusion! Yeah so I had to wrap this up on the fly because I'm endeavoring on an anthropological journey and there is no time for ficcing.  
> A Final thanks to heyjupiter, celeryy and everyone who kudosed!  
> This is hot off the creative press, no beta.

“Jesse. Come on, open the door man,” Clint says as he leans against the wall.

“Why, so you can get a clear shot at me?” Jesse asks in a shaky voice.

“I told you, Natasha is a friend. She’s the one I was talking about in the car,” Clint says.

“You told him about me?” Natasha voice almost sounds hurt.

“I told you about him. Turn about’s fair play, sister,” Clint says.

“Yeah, I remember. Your “spy slash assassin friend”! I get it now. That was a warning, “Yeah sure I can help you.” Jesse says, doing a very bad impression of Clint, “Oh, and by the way, my friend is a trained killer so I can get rid of you easy if I think you’re not worth the trouble.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow and says, “Trust issues much?”

Clint ignores her and says, “Jesse, there’s a reason we’re not breaking down the door. I wish you would believe me when I say I’m not the kind of guy you think I am.”

“You ever think maybe I’m not the kind of guy _you _think I am?” Jesse fires back.__

“Okay, we don’t have time for this,” Natasha says while she pulls a knife out of her purse and jimmies the lock open. Jesse steps forward, grasping the lamp like he would a baseball bat and with a fire in his eyes that Natasha could respect. “You have a choice here. It’s the same choice you’ve had for several years now. You already know what the right move is. Do you want to make it out of this alive? Do you?” Natasha asks.

Jesse takes a deep breath and shifts his gaze to Clint who nods and says, “You’ve just run into the two most resourceful people this side of Budapest.”

“Budapest?”

“Yeah, it’s in Hungary,” Clint says. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Jesse puts the lamp down and sighs, “That sounds awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it...for now. Just kidding, I freaking love this idea and I love these two universes and there's something crazy in me that wants to mesh them into this weird story. Thanks for playing. And if you still want to play, you're welcome to. A couple of things I didn't mention in the story, 1. Given Jesse's affinity for comic book characters, meeting people like Black Widow and Hawkeye could be really cool. Similarly, given Jesse's interest in comic book characters I don't find it hard at all to believe that he read Captain America comics when he was a kid, he might blow a gasket if he ever met Steve Rogers. I Mean The Guy Killed Nazis For A Living.
> 
> And on a completely unrelated note: Check out this website for Huaorani community tours 
> 
>  
> 
> http://huaoranicommunitytours.com/


End file.
